The Belcourt Chronicles
by Frank Kjesus
Summary: My second attempt at the Belcourt Chronicles, the story of Camille Belcourt. When a warlock is attacked and suspects Camille Belcourt is behind it, Alec and Magnus need to look deeper into her past to find the answers.


"Tell me about Camille."

"Alec, we've been over this, we decided to let her rest in-"

"I don't mean your relationship with her," Alec interrupted, placing his hands on his hips and looked Magnus steadily in the eye. "There's just something that's been bothering me and I need to get to the bottom of it. If she had anything to do with what happened to that warlock last night, then-"

"Fine," Magnus gave in, sitting down on the bed and crossing his legs. "Where do you want to start?"

"The beginning."

"A very good place to start," Magnus chuckled, betraying a hint of nerves. Alec did not reciprocate; his blue eyes stayed intently staring at the warlock. "Alright then. Before we begin you should know that though I'm probably the person alive who knew the most about Camille, I only knew her as a vampire and we both know what a manipulative bitch she was, so my accounts are probably vastly lacking in detail and accuracy. So, really, it might be just as well to let matters-"

"Magnus," Alec interrupted the warlock again, gracefully pushing himself off the dresser and walking over to his boyfriend. Taking Magnus' hands in his Alec sat down on the soft grey bed. "I know this is hard, but I need to understand some things."

"I know," Magnus sighed after a moment of silence, soft resignation on his face. "Like I said, Camille was a manipulative bitch, but she learned from the very best; the ladies and whores of French court. She was born in the 1550's in a little French village called Olivet,-"

"1550's? I thought she was a lot older."

"Never call a woman old, Alexander, were you raised in a barn? And considering vampirism wasn't around until 1444 I'd say the 1550's is a perfectly respectable decade for a vampire to be born in. Also are you going to interrupt me every ten seconds?"

"I'm sorry, please continue," Alec said, softly kissing the warlock's brown hands. Magnus smirked and rolled his eyes, continuing the tale of Camille Belcourt.

"Like I said before you so rudely interrupted me," Magnus continued. "She was born in the 1550's in Olivet to a gardener and his wife. Her first words I assume were 'me' and 'Camille'-"

"Magnus."

"Sorry, 'mutilate' and 'kill'. Anyhow, she had a nice quiet life as far as I know. She was the most beautiful girl in town, with hair as yellow as corn, skin as white as snow and lips as red as blood. Her mother died when she was a child, her father grew bitter and abusive, all that good stuff. Still she was kind to all and to see her was to love her,-"

"That does not sound like Camille, you're sure you're not getting her mixed up with another ex?"

"Funny. No, I am positive that Camille was quite the angel back in the day, but as you Shadowhunters say 'the descent into hell is easy' and Camille's descent began the day she met King Charles of France."

—

French court had an abundance of abundances. There was abundance of food, jewelry, politics, dangers and not to mention eligible highborn men. The latter abundance also attracted an abundance of eligible young women who wished to improve their status. There were women of wealth and title and women of less wealth and lower title, women of great beauty and not-so-great beauty. Yet all these women shared a common goal; to get ahead. The easiest way for a woman to get ahead in France, or in the world for that matter, was by finding a man who was better-off than herself and what better place than at court?

To find such men was an easy task at court, but to attain one was much harder indeed. Already possessing the formal education available to women and being trained already to be charming, they focused on what they could change. They plucked their hairlines, bleached their hair, powdered their skin and corseted their waists with as much deliberate determination as the men discussed acts of war.

Camille of Olivet suddenly found herself among these women. In her simple, pale blue dress Camille felt severely underdressed compared to the elaborate dark gowns the women of higher standing wore. Without a cap on her head she even stood out amongst the servants. Cheeks reddening from discomfort she pushed on through the long corridors of the château de Fontainebleau. She pressed the vase she was carrying closer to her chest, hoping the flowers would cover her nearly shapeless dress. Having picked out her very finest dress to go to the castle she was embarrassed that it was still so cheap and lowly compared to the attire she saw around her. She supposed she would have to get used to the feeling of inferiority.

Turning a corner Camille nearly dropped the vase in shock, going slack-jawed and wide-eyed all the same. In the light streaming in through the tall windows stood a young man Camille would have recognized anywhere. She knew that golden mane and the arch of his back as well as her own, and the slight favoring of his left leg was unmistakable to her. Yet the view froze her in place, not because of the familiarity of the man or the way he leaned one arm against the cold stonewall between the pillars, but because of the unknown woman who smiled up at him in the circle of his arms. Dark hair cascaded in curls down to her tiny waist, a smile lighting up her pretty face. It had been years since Camille had seen the man and seeing him laugh in the sunlight with this other woman made her long not to see him at all.

"Beautiful, isn't she?" said a clear woman's voice in hushed tones. Blushing at being caught staring, Camille turned her face to look at the short figure beside her. The woman was beautiful, with a small round face and soft features. In a way she reminded Camille of the painted cherubs she had seen painted around the castle, all blonde curls and blushing cheeks. Her gown was dark green and embroidered with flowers, it was lovely and made Camille self-conscious of her drab gown yet again. "I haven't seen him smile at anyone like he smiles at her."

 _I have_ , thought Camille, but only spoke her agreement.

"That is the king and queen?" She breathed, returning to steal another glance at the laughing couple as the pieces fell into place. Camille had immediately recognized the man as King Charles of France, but had been slow to realize that the woman next to him must be his queen, Elisabeth of Austria. She had never seen the queen, but had heard that she was small and fair-haired, not long-limbed and dark like this woman. Rumors often lied, she supposed. "I'm glad to see that their marriage has blossomed. I heard ugly rumors that there was trouble."

"And this displeased you?" The girl next to her raised a delicate eyebrow and Camille felt her mouth go dry.

"Yes, milady," she replied after swallowing twice. "An unhappy royal marriage leads to an unhappy royal couple and an unhappy royal couple cannot possibly rule as well as a happy one."

"Walk with me," the blonde requested suddenly, giving Camille one small white hand. After some adjusting Camille managed to take the other girl's hand and carry the vase by pressing it against her side. "Your flowers are lovely."

"Thank you," Camille replied, still not feeling like herself after seeing the King. "They're a surprise for lady Marie Touchet, by request of her father."

"You arranged them yourself?" The woman asked, seemingly surprised. Camille didn't think too much of the arrangement, she had done what she could with the flowers available to her. Had she known of the castle garden's somewhat meager selection of flowers she would have brought some from her own garden. The lilacs and forget-me-nots could have used the light pink flowers of the almond tree to balance the arrangement, but she supposed the little daisies would do. "They're beautiful!"

"Yes, I did," Camille replied, glancing shyly at the floor. "My father is a gardener and I was invited here to help the royal gardener and arrange bouquets for the queen. The lady Touchet's father arranged it. I am told the queen so loves the gardens of her home and someone, the King I suppose, wanted her to truly feel at home in France."

"What's your name, chère?" The woman asked Camille as they walked through a pair of tall wooden doors opened for them by a pair of guards.

"Camille de Olivet, madame," Camille replied, as they entered a grand ballroom. There were no windows, but the room was lit by a great chandelier hanging from the ceiling and many torches lining the walls of the room. The pale stone architecture kept the room from feeling grim, despite the lack of natural light. A crowd was gathered in the middle of the room and all their heads turned as Camille and the woman entered and many of the young women hurried towards them with smiles and exclamations of "Eliza! Chère Eliza, you're here!"

Letting go of Camille's hand to hug the women, the woman left Camille standing awkwardly to the side holding on to her vase. Camille had not had the time to ask the woman what her name was, but the other women's cries clearly named her Eliza. One of the women who had rushed to greet Eliza dismissed Camille by telling her to place her vase with the others.

"Camille, wait," Eliza said, breaking away from the dark-haired woman she was hugging. "I didn't formally introduce myself, I am Princess Elizabeth of Austria, Queen of France." For the second time that day Camille found herself going slack-jawed and wide-eyed. "I think you have quite a talent with flowers and I would honoured if you would join me as one of my ladies-in-waiting, in which case you may call me Eliza."

—-

Thus Camille found herself in the grand ballroom the château de Fontainebleau, surrounded by the finest lords and ladies of France. Somehow that was not what she had imagined when she arrived at the castle that morning. Around her men and women milled around, all seeming to know each other well, or at least they were very good at faking friendship. She saw many of the women she had met earlier in the day, the queen's ladies-in-waiting, pulling various gentlemen aside and laughing with them by the pillars or talking in hushed tones in the corners of the room. Camille herself had grabbed a glass wine from a tray, but had not taken a sip all night and was holding unto the chalice for dear life.

Despite borrowing a sky-blue gown, which pinched her waist and pushed up her breasts, Camille still felt out of place and underdressed among the nobles. Another lady-in-waiting had got her hair up and away from her face in an updo unlike anything Camille had ever seen making her head feel heavy, as if all her weight was balanced on top of her head. She supposed the clothes and hair did their job of making sure she didn't seem out of place because no one looked at her for longer than a few seconds.

Most women at court would have hated to go unnoticed at any celebration, but to Camille it was a relief. Going unseen meant that she wouldn't have to explain who she was, admitting her low standing. Besides, the invisibility lent her an opportunity to truly observe the nobles. Looking around she saw the way a striking redhead in a green dress would catch the eye of an elder nobleman, look away shyly and then return his gaze looking up at him through her eyelashes. She saw how a tall man with auburn hair escorted a skinny brunette, one of the queen's ladies whose name escaped her, out of the ballroom. A statuesque woman with piercing eyes and an intricately beaded gown was engaged in serious conversation with a group of noblemen. From a dim corner of the room she saw a man with thick black hair and pale skin watching her with dark eyes. Camille quickly turned her head away from him, catching sight of the king for the second time that day. This time he was unmistakable as royalty as he wore his crown, the gold of it only a shade darker than the gold of his hair. His skin was pale from winter, made paler by his dark blue doublet, the color of the midwinter night sky. Camille was so taken with the sight of him that she hardly noticed Eliza standing beside him, dressed in the same dark blue.

To Camille's horror Eliza took hold of Charles's arm and said something to him, nodding in Camille's direction. If Charles recognized her, he didn't show it. His face remained a beautiful neutral mask, a polite smile on his lips, nothing more. The queen led her husband away from the crowd and to the side of the ballroom where Camille had thought she would be safe. Quickly downing the chalice of wine she had held unto Camille felt the knot of nerves she had been feeling ever since she saw the king for the first time tighten to the point of pain.

"Charles, this is my potential new lady-in-waiting, Camille de Olivet," Eliza said, her manner completely impersonal and polite. Camille noticed that Eliza let go of Charles´ arm as soon as they stopped walking and her heart skipped a beat despite herself. "Camille, this is my husband the king, Charles of France."

"Votre Majesté," Camille greeted him, her mouth dry and her tongue clumsy as she curtsied as deeply as she ever had. She didn't dare look up at him, grateful for the curtsy requiring a bowed head.

"Enchanté, Camille," Charles said softly and Camille couldn't help but meet his eyes as he took her hand and kissed the back of it, gently. She could have sworn his voice caught in his throat as he said her name, but she didn't dare believe it. Charles held her gaze a beat longer than the social norm, before he straightened his back and looked back at Eliza.

"Camille arranged the flowers, aren't they lovely?" Eliza said, not taking her eyes off her betrothed. There was a sour note to the sweet words, an unspoken threat.

"Oui, elles sont trés belles," Charles replied without missing a beat, polite smile once again in place. Camille couldn't help but notice that he hadn't looked at the flowers as he answered. Before she could find the courage to say thanks, a short, plump man approached Charles and pulled him away into a group of men a little ways off.

"And there he goes," Eliza said under her breath, gave Camille a quick smile and left for another group of ladies who waved at her. Camille's heart was racing in her chest, the adrenaline of the meeting not fully reaching her until the regents had left. The room was spinning, the torches on the walls setting fire to everything around her and leaving her cold with sweat. Suddenly her corset felt too tight, the air in her lungs too hot. Gathering her skirts with clumsy fingers Camille stumbled out of the ballroom, mumbling her thanks to the guards who opened the doors and let her out.

Excusing herself from the noblemen she'd been talking to, Catherine de Medici headed straight towards one of her ladies-in-waiting, a slim girl with black hair by the name of Celestia Lone.

"Celestia, would you please go check on Elisabeth's new girl," Catherine asked the freckled girl, pointing to the doors that led out of the hall where the blonde had just left, followed by the king. Cecily nodded and was about to leave after the king, but Catherine grabbed her by the arm. "And be discreet."

"Toujours, madame," the young woman curtsied and headed towards the door.

She could feel the man following her before she had even left the ballroom. His eyes were boring into her skull, she was sure he could have left two holes in her head if he had wanted to.

"You know, you're not very good at sneaking up on people," she said as soon as they were in the corridor. Her eyes followed the king as he hurried down the hall, so distracted Celestia didn't even think her glamour was necessary. "One would think a vampire knew how to sneak up on someone undetected."

"Why do you think I wanted to go undetected?" The dark-haired man replied, swiftly catching up with the short girl. She looked up at him, mild curiosity on her pretty face. "When I could take advantage of a certain someone's glamour."

"Charming," Cecily said. "Why are you following anyway? It's not like you can feed on our King."

"I'm not here for him," the vampire replied nonchalantly causing Celestia to throw him a sideways glance. For the first time she noticed the wine bottle he held in one hand and the chalice in the other. "I'm here for her."

"The new girl? You're not feeding on her are you? She seems nice," Celestia protested. "Can't you take Marie? Or another one of the annoying ones."

"We both know why I can't take Marie," the man said in a tone that suggested he wouldn't have minded taking the King's favorite brunette. "And the others I don't want. But relax, I'm not feeding on this one, I have better uses for her."

"Gross," Celestia muttered as the two of them pushed through the heavy wooden doors that led into the garden.

Memories of flowers, golden hair in sunlight and a pair of big blue eyes flashed in front of her, blurring the reality the corridor of the château. She saw the sun rising and catching in the hair of a young man, could almost hear his laugh. Breathing heavily she pushed open the heavy wooden doors that led into the garden. Having previously lamented the scarce selection of flowers, Camille found herself grateful to be surrounded nature, botanical diversity be damned. The familiarity of the lilac and deep blue comforted her as she collapsed on the steps, holding her head in the hands as if it would fall off if she let go. Cool air filled her lungs and she found herself breathing more easily.

"Camille?" The sound of her name stopped her heart in her chest. She didn't dare look up for fear that he would see the tears that clouded her sight. Drawing a hesitant breath she turned and found Charles smiling down at her from the top of the steps. "It really is you, isn't it? God, come, let me look at you."

"You know me? I thought you didn't recognize me," Camille felt silly saying it aloud, but was too dizzy with relief to care. Taking her cold hands in his he pulled her to her feet and Camille felt a fresh wave of tears fill her eyes. She had missed him so much her body had ached, and being so close to him yet not close enough was torture.

"How could I not know you? You look exactly the same," he breathed, brushing her cheeks lightly with his thumbs. He laughed and looked down, and she felt her heart contract at how beautiful he was. Throwing a quick look over his shoulder at the heavy wooden doors, he took her hand in his and led her quickly down the stairs. "Come with me."

Following Charles along the wall of the château, away from the entrance and the prying eyes of court, Camille's heart sped up, beating hard and heavy in her chest. He stopped when they were halfway down the northern wall, turning to her with sparkling eyes and a bright smile. Even in the moonlight his hair was gold. Looking at him now it was like no time had passed. He was still young and handsome and full of ideas for the future. Nothing about the boy had soured in their time apart.

"God, I've missed you," he whispered. He was so close to her, she could feel his breath hot on her face. One hand was at her waist, pinning her between his body and the wall. The other rested against her cheek, his thumb brushing her bottom lip. She would only need to lean forward to catch his mouth with hers. Then she could wrap her arms around his neck, fingers tangling in his golden hair. Feel his body hot and hard against hers, the stone wall cool and steady behind her. All she had to do was lean in.

"Why didn't you write to me?" The question left her lips before she could stop herself. Charles' head shot back in surprise, his forehead wrinkled in confusion. He opened his mouth to speak, but Camille beat him to it. "I know you were busy, but Charles, it's been four years-"

"Well, I would be inclined to ask you the same thing," Charles replied, stepping away from her and crossing his arms in front of him. "You didn't write me in four years either and I'm quite an easy person to find."

"What are you talking about, I wrote to you! I wrote to you as often as I could afford to send letters," tears clouded her vision and she tried to blink them away which only caused them to fall and be replaced by new tears.

"Oh, is that what you're here for?" Charles nodded to himself, a bitter laugh on his lips. He didn't even look at her. "I'm sorry to disappoint, but mistress to the king isn't a paid service."

Camille found herself speechless. Never could she have imagined that the kind boy she once knew could have been so cruel. The chill of the night suddenly caught up with her and Camille shivered despite herself. Something in his eyes softened as the tears kept streaming down Camille's cheeks.

"Look, I'm sorry we left things the way we did, but there really was no other way," Charles said after a few moments of silence. Camille couldn't decide if she thought he was genuine or not so she simply nodded her understanding. Charles remained awkwardly standing three feet away for a few more moments, rubbing his right thumb against his left palm, before turning the way they'd come. "I need to go back to my party and my wife. I'm sorry I couldn't give you what you wanted."

Camille stared through clouded eyes at his back as he walked away from her and as he turned the corner to head back inside, she slid down the wall and let the tears fall freely.

—

"And then she was Turned and became a bitch, the end," Magnus said, gracefully plopping down unto his back.

"What, Magnus? Come one," Alec protested, looking downright offended. "That's not all there is to it."

"It's not, but that's all I know," Magnus said, gesturing his lack of information. Alec looked away, seemingly deep in thought. Magnus hadn't expected the shadowhunter's keen interest in Camille and had hoped he would be satisfied with the answers that Magnus could give. His ex-girlfriend had always been secretive and Magnus had respected her privacy, considering he had some pretty heavy baggage himself that he didn't like talking about. "You really wanted to know what happened to her, didn't you?"

"I just have this feeling that I can't shake," Alec sighed, laying down next his boyfriend. Magnus rolled over unto his side and took one of Alec's hands in his.

"You know if this really bothers you," Magnus said, looking at their intertwined hands. "There is someone we could go see who might know something."

"Who?" Alec pushed himself up on his elbows.

"I have to warn you though, Alec, this guy is not overly fond of me," Magnus said, continuing when he saw Alec's raised eyebrows. "There was an incident with Marie Antoinette, it's not important."

"If you say so," Alec smiled, raising a hand in defeat. "So, who is it that we need to find?"

"Marcel St. Cloud, the head of the Paris Vampire clan."


End file.
